We're Doing It Wrong
by Keep It Quiet
Summary: If you were to tell me that one day, I would consider a monster as my greatest ally, I would have laughed in your face.  I guess beggars can't be choosers when there is no one left to choose from.
1. Prologue

For two weeks now, he has been following me around. Obviously, it is not a normal situation. Infected do not just randomly mellow out and tag along with people. Normal people did now allow Infected to come anywhere near them. Everything about us is just screwy.

Do I trust him? No, of course not. He's Infected, a deranged monster. A Smoker. But, he's the closest thing I have to an ally these days.

At the moment, he's curled up in the corner, on top of blankets, a ratty old sleeping bag, and my coat. At some point, he must have removed his jacket, and now he keeps flopping about uncomfortably. Even I have to admit it is _freaking_ _hot_ in here. The trailer did not offer us any kind of real luxury, but it _was_ safe. The red door proved that much. And actually it offered a big more than the other two places we had chosen to hide in; there were leftover cans of food, and soft things to sleep on. Now, I am not a pampered little bitch, by any means, but one can only take so much sleeping on plywood.

So, how did we end up together exactly?

It's a funny story, really. Not 'ha-ha' funny, of course. It's also a long one. In two weeks, we have been through a lot. Before I get into the fun stuff, though, maybe I should make some introductions. Yeah, that seems like a good place to start.

My name is Rachele Evans. Formerly, I was a nursing student, fresh out of high school, working as a waitress at The Nook, the little lonesome diner on main street. If you're reading this, you obviously can't see me, so…I'll be blunt. I'm short, plain, and pudgy, simple as that. My brown hair is constantly frizzy. I don't have flawless skin. Sure, I _have_ been called cute in the past; I guess that's something. But no, I am not the drop-dead gorgeous blonde that _somehow_ manages to survive in every zombie movie out there. Looking around, I think the zombies finally got their hands on all of those.

On to my companion over there—he can't tell me his name, obviously, so I have been calling him 'Mick'. Why? I really don't know. He always just struck me as that. Besides, calling him 'Spike' or 'Killer' just seemed tacky. Anyway, I have to admit, he's a hard one to describe. Don't worry, though. You will know everything you need to about him when my tale is finished. I promise.

So, with that out of the way, I can get started.

Our story begins two weeks ago to the day. I'll remember it forever, no doubt—the day I learned exactly how it felt to be completely and utterly _alone…_


	2. Chapter 1

Before I can tell you any stories, you should know a few things about me.

I have never fired a gun before, nor do I carry one. I am no martial artist. The thought of bashing in someone—some_thing_'s brain actually makes me nauseous. My strength had always been playing hide-and-seek, as odd as it sounds. I have to say, never once did I imagine that I would be playing the ultimate game.

I had gotten away lucky so far. All the Infected I came across had been too busy mumbling to themselves, or staring at a wall to notice me, and alleys did not offer the best cover. Still, I somehow managed to slink behind a small horde, and into the old Corner Store.

All but two of the windows had been shattered. My guess was other survivors had raided long before I had arrived. They wouldn't have taken everything. A person can only carry so much, right?

_Wrong_.

Inside was completely trashed. Shelves had been knocked to the floor, merchandise lying all over the floor, crushed beneath them. The cash register was open, too; who the hell thinks about money in a freaking apocalypse? I was skeptical that I would find anything, but I searched anyway.

Low and behold, I did stumble upon a bag of little chocolate candies near the front door. Of course, those could not sustain me for very long. I stepped over fallen debris, making my way behind the counter, to check out the back room.

I jiggled the doorknob and pushed, to no avail. And again. It seemed no matter how hard I shoved, the damn door would not budge. Considering the shape of the rest of the shop, something must have fallen in the way. I could not hear a lock clanging against itself, so it definitely was not locked. Clutter wasn't going to stop me. I counted to three under my breath, and threw my weight against the chipped wood. This time it burst open with a loud crack, and I suddenly heard a startled yell from inside, followed by a crash and scrambling with whatever else fell to the concrete floor.

Before I dared to step foot in there, I peered through the crack. The sun barely penetrated the boarded windows, but I could clearly see something that gave me a start—a Special Infected.

My heart dropped. I knew any of the Infected was dangerous to deal with, but a Special? Hell, I might as well just lie down and let it kill me. I was unarmed, what else could I do?

Dry coughs reverberated off the walls as it struggled to its feet, knocking a plate off the table it used to steady itself. At first, I thought it might have been Mr. Berque, the old shop owner, that had become infected. A quick glance at the monster's feet told me otherwise: Berque's pudgy corpse lay amongst the mess.

The Infected turned a dull white eye to me, and I could almost sense its anger, not that I blamed it honestly. If someone hit me with a door, I would be a little ticked off, too. With it standing, I got a better view. Slowly I started to realize exactly what it was.

Sickly green and black mottled skin covered huge lumps over its mutated head and arms. I was a bit surprised to see locks of dark hair falling onto its forehead. That pupil-less ashen eye regarded me, and then began looking around, almost as if it was searching for an escape. I had never known the Infected to behave so nervously; maybe there was still a lot I had to learn about them. What really caught my attention with this one was the leathery whip of a tongue dangling from its open mouth. It coughed and wheezed, quickly running a hand through its thin hair.

I had heard the description on the news before. The Infected the newscasters talked about were, in essence, just like this one, only they always mentioned more 'tongues'. People were advised to avoid them at all costs. If I remembered correctly, they called this particular type of Infected a 'Smoker'.

Something splattered against the wood, knocking a few splinters loose. I gave a rather undignified yelp and took a step back, hearing the most disgusting slurping sound from the other side of the door. Keeping my distance, just in case, I peered inside again. The Smoker had started scratching at the plywood lining the windows, its short nails not even making a scratch. Its gravelly voice rang through the store, and it turned its attention to me again.

I panicked. I had nothing to kill it with, not that I was sure I _could_ kill it. Instead, I dug into that bag of candy and threw a piece at it. Why? How the hell do I know. Maybe I was hoping to cause a distraction. With how rattled my brain was, there is no way to know exactly _what_ I was thinking there.

Wheezing, the Smoker stared at the melting chocolate with its eerie eye, tilting its head. It crouched, glancing from the candy to me, and back again. Apparently, there was something about the sweet that was nerve-wracking. But, after a little bit of poking, it finally found the courage to pick it up and run it over the base of its tongue. I met its gaze and it choked out yet another arid cough, though something about this one seemed…approving, if you will.

The Infected stood up. At first, I made sure to stay at least an arm's length away from the door as he hobbled closer. My mind was telling me that it—_he _wanted another, that he wasn't going to attack again. I learned really quick never to listen to that voice. The last time I did, I was nearly torn apart by the zombie that was once the awesome neighbor that let me swim in his pool on hot days. Had there not been other 'normals' around, I probably would not be around to tell this story.

The Smoker paused a few feet away from the door. He leaned over, peeking through the little opening until he noticed me looking back. Another yell made me cringe, and I had to fight the urge to actually shush the noisy Infected. So far, his piercing cries had not attracted attention, but still, I was worried.

Now I was curious, though. Keeping my eyes on the Smoker, I took another chocolate out of the bag, and tossed it. My aim sucks. The first throw simply bounced off the door back at me. Second time was the charm. The candy flew through the crack, and he was on it the moment it touched the ground.

How he is able to eat that, I do not understand. The tongue should have made it difficult. He kept his head down until it was all gone, so I could not see. When he _did_ look up again, that one ashy eye bore into mine, his heavy, labored breathing the only sound in the shop. Strange; I couldn't even hear the Infected outside…

"You like these, huh?" I whispered, slowly digging out another one. The Smoker cocked his head, giving me a raspy whine in reply.

Before I could toss the candy to him, I heard heavy panting out front. _That _sound I knew; there was a Tank nearby. Great, two Special Infected at the same damn time?

I could not hang out there anymore. Holding the candies close, I backed away from the broken door, and slipped out the shattered window behind the main counter. Out back was another alley, which if I remembered correctly, led to a parking lot. Not the best place, but at least I would be away from the freaking Tank.

Over the crinkling glass beneath my feet, I heard wood splintering, a questioning bawl following. That Smoker was probably wondering where the hell his candy ran off to.

The growls grew louder. I half-expected to turn a corner and run into the massive Infected. Apparently, whoever was watching over me was finding some sort of sick amusement in toying with me. My throat went dry as I peered into the lot. Cars were _everywhere_; I don't know why I was surprised. It's a freaking parking lot. Squinting, I noticed a trailer across the way. And, if my eyes weren't mistaken, there was a red door on the side, meaning I had found a safe house to stay in, even if only for the night.

Now that I think back, I realize how stupid my next move was. At the time, it seemed like a brilliant idea.

I murmured a quiet prayer of thanks, and bolted between the cars as fast as my very un-athletic legs would carry me, still clinging to the candy. If that was going to be my only food for a while, like hell was I going to drop it. Halfway there, I heard footsteps pounding behind me, groans, growls, and angry mumbles reaching my ears. It was no Tank or any other Special, much to my relief, but it was still a goddamn Infected, and I was still unarmed!

_Shit shit shit shit!_

Its screams were right behind me; honestly, it sounded close enough to reach out and grab me.

The door was so close, but I was so far away. Heart slamming in my chest, tears pouring down my face, I pushed myself to run faster. Not that it mattered; the Infected was still faster. It shrieked in triumph—

-and then I heard a loud, wet _thwp_…


	3. Chapter 2

I'm so excited that people are enjoying this story! I promise I'll try to update often, but...well, with school and such, it's going to be difficult. In any case, I appreciate all the faves and reviews! You guys are awesome ^_^

* * *

><p>Despite that little voice in my brain screaming at me not to, I looked back over my shoulder to see exactly what had just occurred. I quickly realized that I should have listened. Without facing forward, I failed to notice the crack in the pavement, right up until the toe of my shoe caught on it. The next thing I knew, I was falling face-first towards the ground, the impact knocking the wind right out of me. Normally, a person would panic only due to their lack of breath; I started panicking because of that <em>and <em>the fact that there was an Infected on my tail…

…or at least there was.

I rolled on to my back, gradually regaining some of my normal breathing. At the time, I was almost sure I was dead. The Infected pursuing me had sounded so damn close! Now, it was nowhere near me.

It was trapped against a car, gristly wraps of flesh squeezing just below its ribs. Struggling with all its might did no good. The bonds held tight, and a recognizable croaky voice called its triumph. The common infected flinched a little but did not halt its thrashing, screeching in retaliation to its attacker.

The sight caught me off-guard. As much as I wanted to watch, to figure out exactly _what_ was going on, I knew better. I climbed to my feet, a bit more difficult than expected, as my ankle throbbed like mad. Quick as I could, I slipped inside the trailer, slamming the red door shut and throwing the lock. For extra protection, I lodged one of the two lawn chairs against the handle. Because, you know, they're super-effective against zombies that want to come in.

I slumped against the back wall and slid to the floor, holding my knees to my chest. My heart was _still _pounding. Outside there was a sickening _Crack_; I cringed. It honestly sounded like bones snapping. I had only heard that noise once, when my sister had broken her arm falling out of a tree. God, I had always hoped to never hear it again.

Another gritty howl, and shambling footsteps scuffed over the blacktop. Closer. Closer. I buried my face in my arm. _Go away, go away, go away!_

A bang at the door drew a startled scream from me. Short nails raked over the steel. Familiar coughs and wheezes echoed through the trailer. Biting my lip, I risked a glance up to the door, meeting the ashen eye of a Smoker.

It—he (I had to mentally kick myself to remember that it was still a _he_) cocked his head, wheezing quietly, and wrapped a swollen hand around the bar. My eyes wandered down his face to the dangling tongue. Obviously, that Common had done a number on the Smoker; nail and bite marks lined the exposed flesh, dark green fluid dripping down to the tip. I assumed it was blood. It couldn't tell exactly how bad it was—that damn Smoker was _filthy_—but I…wait, why did I care again?

My wishful thinking did not work, so I tried something a little more forceful. "Go away…" I all but whispered hoarsely. The Infected stared at me, coughing. He shook the bars, tilting his head the other way, never once taking that creepy eye off me. "_No!_ Get out of here!" I said it as if it would do something. It did not.

He looked exactly like the one I saw at the store, so I assumed he was. Besides, most of the Smokers newscasters talked about had multiple tongues. This one stood out. It _had _to be the same one. Without any other idea, I dug into the bag of candy, taking out one piece, and whipped it at the door. It hit the steel and fell to the floor. The Smoker pressed his face eagerly against the bars, trying to see exactly where his fallen treat had rolled. He yelled, looking back at me.

The Infected was not going to leave until he got the chocolate. I knew that (at least, I was fairly sure that was the only thing he really wanted). What his fascination was with Rolos, I do not understand, but at least he was not attacking me. Cautiously, I crawled over to where the candy lay, reaching one shaky hand out to grab it. The Smoker shifted anxiously, his coughs growing a bit more eager. He stuck his hand through, holding an open palm toward me.

I held the candy in my fist, biting my lip. He made a noise, similar to his trademark yell though nowhere near as loud, and shook his hand. "All right…" I murmured softly. One Infected nearby was enough, I did not want to attract any more with my voice. "I'll make you a deal: Don't grab my arm, and I'll give it to you."

The Smoker rasped, the bouncing tongue leaving greenish-black smears on the bars. Slowly, my trembling arm reached towards his. I was almost certain my teeth had punctured my lip at that point. It took every ounce of my courage to finally hover over his extended palm and drop the Rolo.

At first, he did not pull back. It seemed like he was waiting for me to back off before he did, quite a difference from the nervous Infected I had seen not even an hour ago. When he did, though, he quickly shoved the candy into his mouth, wrapper and all. I guess as an Infected, removing it was not a big concern.

Even after he had finished, the Smoker stood outside, staring in at me. I quickly slid the bag of sweets behind my back, and held up my hands. "Sorry. No more." He yelled, stretching his neck to attempt peering around me. He knew, and that scared me. My dog was not even smart enough to realize that her bone would still be there, even after it went behind my back. Now a zombie had figured that out?

Watching him, I suddenly realized that I was in range for that tongue. My only question: Why hadn't he grabbed me yet? He had every opportunity, really, and if he wanted the candy, he probably could just snatch it. Most of my information on the Infected had come from the news, for the Specials anyway. Every broadcast I watched stressed the point to avoid Smokers, lest you want to find yourself dragged up the side of a building and beaten to death before you even realized you were off the ground. They were supposed to be opportunistic, taking advantage wherever it arose.

If that was the case, what the _hell _was up with this one?

Maybe he was just hungry, was my first thought. In my opinion, candy was superior to human (or Infected) flesh, after all. I had to admit, I was not overly willing to share all my candy with a zombie. It was my last source of food for the time being. With that Smoker hanging around outside, I was not planning on leaving soon. The candy had to last.

I crawled over beside the door, hoping I was out of range of that tongue, should he decide to use it. Pressing my back against the wall, I took a deep, cleansing breath. I was safe in here; I had to believe that. The Smoker hollered again, and I saw some of his dark hair through the bars. He was…looking for me? The candy I had forgotten on the opposite side. Why was he so intent on seeing me?

"I can't believe I'm going to say this…" I began softly, laying my head against the plywood wall. "But…" I paused. No, I was not going to say it. Normal people don't wish zombies 'good night'. Instead, I scoffed, holding my knees to my chest again with my face buried in my arms and cried into my lap as loud as I dared, "Go away!"

The Smoker took a few steps back, startled by the sudden noise. I heard him shuffle around on the blacktop a little, and then there was a _thump_ against the trailer's siding.

I was not concerned. He was away from the door, and that was what mattered. My focus needed to be on sleep. After running around for a few days, I needed the rest. Still, I could not shake the longing for a bed, a real bed to sleep on, to snuggle into and feel safe in. Plywood in a trailer would never give me that feeling. Come to think of it, _nothing_ would ever give me that feeling again. I was not safe anymore.

_Better start getting used to it._


	4. Chapter 3

Somehow, I managed to calm my nerves enough to sleep, at least for a few hours. I kept waking up randomly throughout the night. Normally I would attribute that to nightmares. This was a dreamless sleep I would have given anything to dive back into. Sitting in that trailer, hearing the mumbles of passing Infected as they ambled by, struck me with that same sense of dread I had felt since the day this whole thing started. I shivered against the warm air, squeezing my knees.

"I'll be okay," I muttered softly, nodding along with the declaration. To be perfectly honest, I was not sure how much I believed myself. "Yeah…Yeah, I can do this."

Nails scratched along the siding right behind me, and I froze. After hearing the Tank earlier in the day, I was still on edge, even though I had just woken up. Part of me knew that if it _were_ a Tank, the trailer would have been up-ended the moment I spoke. About to dismiss it as another Common, I suddenly noticed a cluster of speckled green lumps poking through the door, muffled coughs and panting going along with.

As I thought about it, I had not heard that Smoker leave. I figured he would have wandered off while I slept. He stood on the wooden steps, inspecting the inner walls of the trailer. I could make out his deformed profile even in the dark. By my guess, it had to be early still; honestly, I was a little surprised to see him moving around.

"Well, good morning," I murmured, stretching my arms. The Smoker looked at me, blinking his solo eye. Other than his occasional wheeze, everything was silent. Back in the good old days, when things were normal, I always hated complete silence. I needed some kind of noise, otherwise I felt like I would go insane. I scooted away from the wall, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. "What were you doing out there all night?"

Yes. I was talking to a zombie. Maybe I was going insane already.

People need some sort of socialization. It is just a fact of life. That is about the only justification I could think of for it.

The Smoker tilted his head, scratching at the largest lump on his face. I guessed he was simply not used to a 'normal' speaking to him, though I doubted that really concerned him. The fact that I had not shot at him was probably nice, too (not that I could if I wanted to). He stood there quietly, as quietly as a Smoker could I mean, and regarded me with a weird curiosity. Even when I met his gaze, he made no hostile move, nor did he shy away.

I sighed, biting my lip. "Why won't you just leave me _alone_?" In the distance, I could hear thunder rumbling. The storm was still a ways away, but that made it no less depressing. If there was one thing that bothered me more than silence, it was storms. Yes, I will feed candy to a zombie, but I will hide whenever I hear thunder. I'm a wuss; I'll be the first to admit that. The Smoker heard it too, as he glanced off in the direction of the crash before his nosiness brought him back to me. "You're supposed to want to kill me! I really doubt all you want is my damn candy…"

He gave me a quiet rasp in reply, laying his misshapen forehead on the steel. His leathery tongue thumped against the door, drawing a hushed, pained noise from him.

I eyed him. That Infected was starting to peak my own curiosity. As I have mentioned, before him I had never encountered a Smoker, but even I knew his behavior was…off. "What?" I asked, resting my chin on my arm to watch him. "You want to come in here or something?" The Smoker shifted uncomfortably as the sky above him clouded over, draping his wounded tongue inside. He might not respond to me the way a person normally would, but it appeared that he was hanging on my words. I can't really describe it—sort of like a dog, really. They cannot entirely 'understand' you, but they give that impression of enjoying the words coming out of your mouth. Every time I spoke, his head would tilt, or that eye would open just a little wider than usual. I shook my head at him. "Sorry, big guy. If I knew for a fact you wouldn't rip me apart, I would, but…"

Now, usually I am one of those people that try to look on the bright side of things. _Usually_. Actually, some of my friends used to call me 'obnoxiously optimistic'. Since then, that optimism has faded. In the back of my mind, I started wondering exactly _why_ it mattered if he would attack me or not. Even if I survived the night, what for? What was there for me—or anyone, for that matter—anymore? Zombies, zombies, and…oh hey, more zombies; yeah, there's something to look forward to.

Rain began to fall in the parking lot. As the wind picked up, some of the droplets made it through the bars. Already steam was floating up from the blacktop outside.

The Smoker shoved his hands into the pockets on his dirty jacket, wet hair sticking to different places on his head. It was not cold out there, by any means. I honestly think he just did not appreciate being soggy. I didn't blame him. Anyone knows that is not the most pleasant feeling in the world.

Call me stupid. Call me suicidal. Even with my exhausted, rattled brain, I knew it was a bad idea.

I stood slowly, rubbing the back of my stiff neck. The Smoker took a step back with a nervous yell, covering his head with his hands. "Shhh…" As if that would silence him. I inched over to the door and lifted the bar holding it shut.

This was a terrible idea. That Smoker could tear me apart if he really wanted to. At the time, though, I don't think I cared. I had sunk into a weird, depressed frame of mind. Loneliness mixed in with helplessness and confusion tends to do that to some people. Sadly, I am not one of those godlike people who can keep themselves perky through everything, no matter how much I try. If the Infected decided to kill me, I almost considered it doing me a favor.

I cracked the door open just a little, backing away slowly. Over in the corner was a pile of ragged old blankets that were starting to look very, very inviting, despite what I had just done. Still, I could wait just a little longer to sleep. If the Smoker wanted to come in, I would let him. Once he was inside, there was no way in hell any other Infected were coming in. One roomie was enough for me. I needed to re-bolt that door.

With another step back, a familiar crackling caught both of our attentions. A Rolo flattened under my muddy shoe. I remembered suddenly that the bag was still there, and reached down to grab another piece. The Smoker straightened, taking an eager stride towards me before hesitating once more. I scoffed, folding my arms over my chest as he came a little closer, finding the courage to climb to the top stair and lay his hands on the door. "Either get in here, or go away," I said. "I really don't want any of your friends bargin' in, too."

I moved away from the door. Considering how jumpy he seemed, I probably unnerved him just standing in the way like I was. A tense few moments passed before the door creaked open the rest of the way. The Smoker stuck his bulbous head in, gaze locking on me before drifting to the smashed candy on the floor. His eye narrowed at it, and he squeezed the rest of his body inside.

By that time, my heart felt like it would leap out of my chest. There I was, standing straight across from a freaking Special Infected, like he was a common, harmless dog. I had to be all kinds of crazy. My stomach tied itself into knots, every fiber of my being expecting to be wrapped up in that tongue at any second.

He, apparently, had other plans.

The Smoker peeled the candy off the floor and limped over to the back wall. He knelt down, hunching his body over his folded legs, and leaned on the broken wood. Already he seemed more than glad to be out of the rain.

Slowly, so not to startle him, I slid along the opposite wall, and pushed the door shut. I could feel him watching my every move, studying me for any sign of hostility. I tried to 'ignore' him, and lifted the bar back into its position to lock up for the rest of the night (and most of the day). Let me tell you, that's a _damn_ hard thing to do-ignoring an Infected, I mean.

I held my head in both hands. "What the hell am I doing…?" He cocked his head, and I knelt down just across from him. "If you're going to kill me, do it now," I told him, keeping my voice as flat as I could, which by the way is not easy when you are asking something to murder you. He did not pay me much attention, more concerned with shoving the Rolo down his throat than listening to my ramblings.

That night, I was just full of stupid ideas. He had _just_ come in, and now I had another urge...How had I made it this far again?

I rose up on to my hands and knees, which gave him a start. Not a good sign; I might have been telling him to kill me, but I really did not want him to. Obviously. No one really does, no matter how much one claims he or she does. Scaring the Infected would only provoke his aggression. "It's okay," I murmured softly, moving towards him with slow, gentle strides. "I can't hurt you…"

The Smoker shot to his feet, towering over my crawling form, and screamed, pressing himself against the wall.

I climbed up as well, holding my trembling hands in front of me. "Easy, easy! I'm sorry! I didn't…mean t-to scare you." _Rachele…are you out of your freaking mind? _ Taking another step in his direction, I reached out a little farther. Instantly, he jerked, and retreated to the far corner. I started to wonder if he wanted to get out, but never once did he go near that door.

Finally, I gave up, shaking my head at the Infected. "You are just a huge wuss, aren'cha?" He responded with a gravelly yell. Of course, I flinched. When an Infected screams at you, it is somewhat difficult not to. I threw my arms up in the air. "Fine, fine. Hide over there. Just remember, you can't hurt me if you won't even come over here. It's only fair."

The way I figured, if he was going to kill me, he would have done it by now. He had had lots of opportunities, and he hadn't even been inside for twenty minutes. All of which were my fault. Part of me was rather proud of myself for getting him out of the storm; but why should I care? He's Infected! Who knew how many people had died because of him. I took a deep breath, running a hand through my greasy hair. Old habits die hard, I told myself. You can't go through so much training as a nurse and not expect to be at least a little sympathetic for people-which was exactly what he was. A sick human being. Right?

...Technically, yes, but there is much more to being human than the DNA. The mind has to remain intact. All things considered, that was one thing he, and all the other Infected lacked. Mulling over all those details, and trying to warrant my brainless actions made my head hurt.

I rolled the candy in my palm across the floor, sitting against the wall farthest from him. My eyelids kept drooping despite my nerves, but I thought I would never be able to sleep. Not with him so close. Instead, I settled for reclining uncomfortably on the wood to observe. From the look of it, he was planning to do the same.

The last thing I remember from that night was seeing that pasty eye staring at me—through me—before my exhaustion did finally overpower me.


	5. Chapter 4

The next time I opened my eyes, the sun was blazing through the cracks in the doorway. Everything smelled fresh from the rain last night; I never before realized how much I enjoyed that scent. Off to my right, I noticed some movement, a brief flash of panic shooting through me.

_Last night. Smoker. __…__Right._

He was on his knees not three feet away, reaching towards me, though he seemed to be really trying to keep his distance. His lanky body stayed in one place while his hand stretched out, eye narrowed in determination. Without moving my head, I looked down. Apparently he had taken it upon himself to raid the candy bag at some point last night, I can't say why I expected him not to, and one piece had rolled away, laying beside my leg.

Slowly, I moved my foot to give him a warning that I was awake, and then I stretched. He somehow managed to refrain from freaking out, as I imagined he would, but he did jerk his arm back, placing it in his lap. Heart pounding again, I smiled at him and hoped he wouldn't interpret it as a snarl. "Good morning," I said. Talking to him was not as strange to me now (already). Who else could I talk to? Myself? Even in the zombie apocalypse, conversations with yourself are not a good thing.

I picked up the stray Rolo, holding it in two fingers before me. "If you want it, you gotta come get it." He blinked, shifting nervously. That hand came close, and he turned his palm up, like he had last night before I let him in. "Nope." I held it against my chest. "Come _here_."

For a while, we sat there awkwardly staring at one another, the only noise being his winded breaths. I was ready to give up and hand it over, right up until I saw him inch forward. A little more. A little…he paused just out of my reach. Expecting a frustrated scream, I bit my lip to brace for it. That seemed to be his normal response. To my surprise, though, the Infected moved a tad closer, sitting at my side, staring at me. He held out his hand again.

Well…he did what I wanted him to, so I warily handed over his coveted Rolo. "See? I'm not so bad…"

Then I got bad idea number…wait…I lost count…

Keeping my movements slow, deliberate, I reached toward his head. I'm one of those people that likes to touch things. It has gotten me into a bit of trouble in the past (my dad's horse bit me. What were _you_ thinking, hm?), but it's a habit I obviously had not kicked. The urge struck once more.

The Smoker was none-too-fond of my newest endeavor. He sat up straight, leaning back bit by bit to keep his head away. "It's okay…" I tried to soothe, somehow keeping my voice from shaking. He sat there, to his credit and my shock. Maybe…maybe he was a little curious about me, too.

When he could not lean back any farther, I took my opportunity. Carefully, I eased my hand to the lumps on his head; the surrounding spores made me think of mosquitoes bumping into my skin. He took a shuddering breath and closed his eye, and I finally brushed against him.

Instantly I wanted to jerk away. His flesh felt like a foam basketball covered in sweat or water, but…he wasn't wet; at all. Not even a drop of perspiration. Perhaps it had something to do with the spores floating around, somehow. Slowly he opened his eye, watching me with all the suspicion of a stray dog…but he did _not_ pull away. More importantly, he did not attack. I took it as permission to continue. I brushed a few loose hairs off his bumpy forehead, frowning. He was a dirty, mutated zombie. How was his hair softer than mine? Something was not right there!

My hand slid down his cheek (if you could call it that anymore), stopping just beside his mouth. The Smoker growled low in his chest, though it quickly turned into a short, violent cough.

Apparently he was only _so_ tolerant. I was not about to push my luck, so I drew back, and released the breath I had not realized I'd been holding.

Suddenly he slammed both hands on either side of my head, straddling my legs. Honestly, I think I was too scared at the time to even contemplate screaming. The Infected lowered his head, staring me right in the eye. I tried to glare back; not possible when my body was trembling like an epileptic fit. He then laid a hand on the side of my head, as I had done to him; not exactly gentle, but he didn't smack me or anything. My skin probably didn't feel as weird to him as his did to me (God, I hope not). He pressed his face against my neck, sniffing at me, his leathery tongue bumping against my arm. It curled a little, wrapping around my arm, just above the elbow…

_Ick Ick Ick Ick Ick!_

Think abrasive cow tongue. If you've never felt one, it's like a mild sandpaper. Then, line it with warm, soggy hair gel. Plus, it was sticky with blood. _Ick!_

In no position to really fight back or yell at him (I may have been stupid, but not THAT stupid), I held still for his inspection, wanting to squeeze my eyes shut. He did not do very much, really. I was unbelievably grateful for that. Once he was satisfied with my scent, he sat back on his heels, hand falling to my shoulder, and watched my silent panic, hacking and panting as he usually did.

Even with such little space between us, I felt a bit more confident. Barely enough to force myself to speak. "Get off…" I croaked. He cocked his head, so I put one nervous hand on his belly and pushed. "Off…"

That sent the message. Or he was getting bored just sitting there. One way or another, the Smoker shoved himself back, off my legs, and sat. No screams, no aggression whatsoever. He seemed to realize I had only a certain degree of tolerance, too.

The smell of those spores stuck with me. There is no way to describe it effectively….The only comparison I can think of offhand is a musty car seat in the summer. It is not terrible but not exactly pleasant. The worst part was feeling the little spores touching me and going up my nose. How the Smoker dealt with it, I will never understand. His constant coughing made sense now, though. Like standing in a dust cloud, with bugs.

"So…I guess we're acquainted now," I muttered lamely, not bothering to mask the sarcasm. I was still too freaked out to stand up and move away. That was, by far the closest I had ever been to an Infected. So, I just sat there, tasting blood from my lip where teeth had broken through skin.

The Smoker took a few deep breaths, sounding like he was sucking air through a straw. God, he was so noisy! Constantly! One thing was certain; I could not be too stealthy with him around. Perhaps, if I was lucky, I could use that to my advantage. Generally, the common Infected avoided the Specials whenever they could. That was my theory. How true it was I could not say. There _had_ to be a reason the Smoker was so uneasy around…well, everything.

Steeling my nerves, I cleared my throat and pushed up the wall to my feet. He sat still, eyeing me. "I'm going to find some breakfast, since you decided to hog it all." A band of saliva remained on my arm; I felt it every time I brushed against my shirt. _Gross!_

Keeping my back to the wall, I inched toward the door. He didn't seem to care, simply knelt in the middle of the floor observing me. When things were normal, being stared at bugged the hell out of me. I think it does most people. Since my wonderful companion decided to follow me (not even 48 hours ago), it hardly even phases me now. Talk about a weird adaptation.

Anyway, the bar refused to budge on my first attempt. Rusted and old, it made me worry that it fused to its latch. With a little more coaxing, though, it jolted free. I lifted it and went to place it on the floor, only it stuck again. In mid air. Wait…that's not normal…

A low cough made me bite back a smile. He was not planning on letting me escape that easily. I wiggled the bar. "Let go," I said with a little laugh. Hey, it was a zombie apocalypse out there. Little thing, like toying with my new…the Infected, were my source of amusement now. Two weeks later and I _still _know that's unusual. "C'mon, drop it."

I still don't think he understood me; however, he did let the bar clatter to the ground, catching me off-guard just enough to almost lose my balance. The back of my mind wondered if the sudden, sharp noise caught anything's attention. I prayed not.

Carefully I slid the rusty door open and peered around the parking lot. Near the alley, a few commons lingered. Otherwise it was all clear.

"If I remember right, there's a grocery store down the road," I told him, suddenly remembering I was speaking to an Infected. You never realize how much you'll miss human interaction until you don't have it. At this point, I was willing to talk to anything that would listen. Let me tell you, he was doing a damn good job of that.

Stepping outside, I kept myself pressed to the siding. I peeked around back. The coast was clear up to the main road. I couldn't see any further than that. Considering how busy it normally was, I was willing to bet that whole street would be teaming with Infected. Just the thing a solo, unarmed girl wants to find.

Well…maybe not solo. Not far behind, shuffling footsteps scuffed over the pavement. I was right: he was not just going to let me leave. He, too, looked around the corner, garbling strange noises as he turned back to me. I didn't think that was a good sign, not with the look in his eye. Weird, how a flat, white eye can still…express.

"Who invited you?" He stared. He had a tendency of doing that. I simply shook my head. At the time, I thought I had better things to worry about than what was tagging along with me.

I closed my eyes for a moment, muttering to a God that did not seem to like humanity anymore for protection. Doing so had gotten me this far. I guessed it couldn't hurt. Then, it was time to put that prayer to the ultimate test.

All the scattered cars provided me with a little cover. I ran to one, waited a moment to listen for any unfamiliar footsteps, and then move on to the next. I was confident I could make it to the store unseen that way, except I originally planned to go alone. I never truly thought that Smoker would be hovering over me the entire way. If he was shorter, it wouldn't be as big of a deal. He would be able to crouch and hide with me. But no, he stood at least a head over each of the cars. I did not think it mattered, though. The other Infected should leave him to his own devices.


	6. Chapter 5

If things had gone any better, I would have exploded.

No Infected. Many cars to hide behind. And to top it all off, the front door of the shop was _open_. My only complaint was the lack of available food inside. Among the crap all over the floor, I only managed to scrounge up three smashed granola bars and a box of Cheerios, which made my heart do a flip. I _LOVE _Cheerios! On a more important note, though, I came across a few pieces of cloth. _That _might come in handy.

Not too far away, my Smoker buddy rummaged behind the checkout counter. Every now and then, he would cram something into a pocket on his jacket. Good, he found his own stuff. He will leave my cereal alone, assuming he follows me back, of course.

I kicked around some of the broken shelves. The survivors, or whatever had beaten us here, did a number on the place. Fragments of glass and splintered wood crackled under my shoes, along with pieces of food and—I paused.

A baseball bat. A chunk was missing from the thicker end, but that was _definitely _a bat.

So, for the run here, I now held a travel-size box of Cheerios and granola bars in my back pockets, and a bat in my arm. The Smoker obviously had better luck. It made me wonder—I always thought the Infected preferred living flesh. I created that image in my mind. If I was not mistaken, he had a bag of crackers on him. ….Right.

His tongue bled all over his dirty gray shirt. It hardly seemed to faze him, though, as he limped back to me. One look at my weapon made him pause, eye widening almost comically. I shouldered it. Hopefully that might put him at ease.

Outside, metal crashed into the asphalt. Both of us started; how I managed to withhold a scream, I am not sure. Even he choked.

The distinct growl of a group of Commons made my heart skip a beat. One or two I thought I could handle, now that I had a weapon. A band of more, no freaking way. Besides, the sound of bones cracking makes me nauseous. How could I manage to beat in a skull?

Either way, it was time to leave.

Bat tightly in hand, I crept toward the front door, biting a bloody hole in my lip. Everything on my body shook fiercely, to the point I thought I would drop my mace.

A pale man sauntered by the window. He held his head, groaning low in his throat. He staggered over the sidewalk, occasionally turning to look out over the road. A group of Infected was mobbing around one of their own. I could see it between the jumble of angry, starved bodies. The injured female screamed, hobbling out of their reach, thought it was obvious she was done for. With an inhuman howl, the pack bore down on her flesh. How many normals had fallen that same way, I wondered. That number could add one more too it, should I have decided to continue out that door.

I almost did, until a balmy, dry hand grabbed my arm.

He made a noise under his raspy breath, similar to his trademark call only not nearly as loud. Tugging roughly at my flesh, he led me to the back of the store. Sense told me to slam the bat upside his head and get the hell away from him. Sure, he had been docile thus far, but he was still Infected. Now he had audacity to actually touch me on his own accord.

Honestly, if he did not seem to have a plan, I might have considered doing just that.

I heard a startled grunt outside. The sidewalk zombie had seen me. In his frenzy, his gurgled scream echoed through the emptiness, and he threw himself at the flimsy door. I had to admit it, but I almost cried. I am not proud of that, but…well, I pissed off a zombie. What else was I going to do?

The Smoker answered with a scream of his own, and for a moment, the dull _thud_ from the front paused. Maybe he thought he had mistakenly seen a normal? No. More, louder thumps pounded on the frame, and my counterpart pulled harder, shuffling to the storage area near the back of the store. He shouldered through the cracked door, dragging me along, and frantically turned to glance behind us.

That stupid door would not hold them. It had no lock. Around us where metal shelves, though, and boxes, many with items still inside. Fueled by adrenaline, I yanked the stacked shelves across the floor. Thankfully, they were sturdy, and very easy to move. I did that all on my own. I struggled with a few of the boxes, though. The Smoker must have recognized my problem, once coming over to help me. Or so I thought. He stood beside me and watched, really. I do not think the concept of 'help me pick heave stuff up' ever flitted through his mind.

In any case, I was able to stack enough of them to create a barricade. A shitty one, compared to some others I had seen, but it was better than nothing. So long as only a few came in to find us, we…might be okay.

Panting, I looked over to the Smoker. I wished now more than ever that he could be silent! If anything would give us away, it was his nearly constant hacking. I have to give him credit, though; he was quieter, as if he knew we could end up in deep shit if he was not.

Wild growls ad hisses reached my ears, and my breath stopped. They were close, too close. I was scared to death to even twitch, let alone move away from the door. He, on the other hand, scrambled to the far end of the room.

Now I thought I understood his fearful, nervous behavior. Hell, I would be the same way if hordes had been constantly chasing me, as I had a feeling they had been doing to him. It made sense: his initial reaction, his hiding place, his attempt at complete silence. He knew how to avoid them. There was only one sure-fire way of learning that.

One question remained; why exactly had he taken me along with to hide?

Such inquiries were best left until later. Right now, there was a mob of Infected outside. I could hear the snarls, the groaning, the…laughing?

Wait. That's not right. Common Infected do not make noises like that. It honestly reminded me of a horse. On crack.

The hand on my arm pulled me out of my stricken stupor. There was another Special out there. It had to be. My Smoker knew it, too. Gentler than before, he urged me to follow him to the opposite wall. Never once did his gaze leave the barricade. The laughter steadily grew louder.

Without thinking, I grasped his jacket in one hand, the bat still tight in the other, and whispered shakily, "W-what the _fuck_ is that?"

_BAM_

I jumped into the wall, biting my lip so not to scream. My heart slammed into my ribs. They found us. I knew it. Wild laughter and frantic pounding on the wall made my cringe…but so far, my barricade held. Whatever was out there with the Commons was not trying very hard, not at first. When it did, we knew it. Boxes toppled to the floor, and the shelves trembled with every shove it made.

What happened next, my mind could hardly comprehend. It made me wonder if there _was _still someone looking out for me.

Gunshots rang through the air. Yells followed suit; not Infected yells…but human. _Human!_ Butterflies rose in my stomach as they slowly drew closer…closer…

"Get this Jockey off me!" a man shrieked. More shots fired over his fearful pleas. The pounding had ceased completely. Apparently, the Infected had something more interesting to play with now.

I stood straight. There were people still alive out here! With that horde, who knew how long that would last. I bolted to the barricade, slipping around fallen boxes to jerk the shelves out of the way, just enough to give me some room. Excited hardly describes how I felt. _Finally _some _human _interaction!

Shoving the door open, I stumbled over lifeless bodies of the dead Infected. A group of three—two men and a woman—stood in a circle, firing at any straggling zombies as they neared. As the last few fell, one man turned to me and took aim. He eyed the bat in my hand and sneered.

"Who are you?" he asked harshly, like it mattered.

My mouth opened to respond only to snap shut. I could not help it. I never had a gun pointed at me before.

"Tell us your name, girlie, or your fate's the same as theirs," the other man growled.

"Wh..I…" I cleared my throat. "R-Rachele. My name is Rachele." Despite their…severity, I could not be happier for the contact, especially after they lowered their guns.

"You okay, honey?" the woman asked. I nodded slowly. Off to my right, a corpse caught my eye. It appeared to be a small man, but…the shape was not right. Its arms were mangled, its back hunched and protruding through its pale skin. It lay face down on the floor, not that I really wanted to see its face anyway. The woman offered me a gentle smile. "Never seen one of _them,_ have ya?" I shook my head.

"Nasty little fucks," the first man said. "They'll run ya off a cliff if ya give 'em a chance."

"What is it?" Something to avoid, for sure.

"They've been callin' them Jockeys," she replied, eyeing the corpse. "Enough about them. You'll get to see them all in time, I'm sure." The two men grumbled, but she brushed them off. "Do you have a place to stay?"

I nodded quickly. The other two had begun searching shelves and drawers. I knew there was nothing. Ah well, let them be disappointed. I did not like them anyway. They deserved it for even considering shooting me.

"Mind if we spend a night? We'd be out by morning."

I wanted to respond with a polite 'no', though I did not have time to. The Smoker gimped to the storage room doorway. He looked at me, cocking his head. At first, I thought nothing of it. Then, I suddenly remembered they were—

"Smoker!" the elder man yelled, and bullets ricocheted off the steel frame. The Infected yelped and scampered out of sight, most likely to the back again. The normal charged after; apparently, there was some kind of sadistic satisfaction in killing the Infected. Now, in my mind, I kind of owed that damn Smoker. He _did_ drag my ass away from certain death, after all. Even he could see I stood no chance against the horde. Before the guy could reach the doorway, I blocked his path, bracing both arms on the frame.

"Girl, you best be gettin' the hell out of my way!"

I narrowed my eyes, hiding the fact that I was a little worried he would actually shoot me just to get to the Smoker. "He's with me."

"What? That fucking monster isn't a—"

"He's. With. Me," I repeated, louder this time, stressing each word in hopes it would sink it. All three of them wore the same disgusted, disbelieving expression. If I did not have to keep up the 'tough girl' appearance, I might have laughed.

A gurgling groan outside drew attention away from me. I knew that noise: a Boomer lurked somewhere nearby. They knew it, too.

"Guys, c'mon. Let's _go_!" the younger man urged, backing towards the front door. That probably was not the best idea; it sounded like the Boomer was out there somewhere. "Just leave 'er here."

The woman stared at me shortly before she followed, murmuring something a 'risk' and 'insanity. The elder man snarled at me.

"You better put that fucker down before he does it to you first," he spat, stepping away. His eyes drifted from me, to the storeroom, and back. "They don't change back." And with that, he, too, exited the store, leaving me alone with the uneasy wheezes of the Smoker.

I turned back to him. His shoulder had a dark red splotch of wetness that had soaked through to his jacket. He had been hit at some point. Still, he had managed to find the gall to come closer, and stood just a few feet away. The quizzical look in his eye made me smirk.

I had just driven off the only other people I had encountered. I had just stood up for an Infected._ Oh, Rachele, what have you gotten yourself into?_

He cocked his head, patting his coat as if he was checking his pockets. At least he could move the injured arm. I have to admit; I could not help but feel for him. I could not imagine a gunshot wound. Hell, I scream when I get a sliver in my finger. Maybe when we got back to the trailer, I could patch him up. ….God, what the _hell_ was I doing?

Pointing an accusing finger at him, a full-on grin slipped. It appeared that, as long as he continued to grace me with his noisy company, the two of us were going to be together for a while. _Just_ the two of us. "You owe me. I hope you realize that."


	7. Chapter 6

Okay, first and foremost, I have to say a huge THANK YOU to everyone who has reviewed and fave'd this. I can't even begin to describe the huge, doofy grin I have plastered on my face every time I read the alerts! I'm SO glad you guys are enjoying this ^_^

* * *

><p>Our pile of loot, if it could even be labeled a pile, sat in the corner farthest from the door. All except my Cheerios—no way was I giving him any opportunity to eat them. I had secured the door already, despite the sun still high in the afternoon sky. The more I thought about it, where were we going to go? Besides, I found a way to occupy myself. Since we had returned, I chased my wonderful little buddy around the trailer. Raggedy cloths in hand, I wanted only to clean the wound on his shoulder. Why? How the hell should I know; maybe it was the nursing instruction that continued to nag me. I felt the need to help. Of course, he did not see it that way. If he still knew how to give me the finger, I'm certain he would have by now.<p>

"You were _perfectly _fine with me an hour ago. What's the problem now?"

I managed to corner him between a wall and the busted remains of a table common to the safe houses. Admittedly, that was not the most secure maneuver on my part, but at least he stopped running away. The Infected faced me, no trace of true fear or anger his disturbing eye, only a bleak weariness. He grabbed his tongue in both hands, turning himself away.

"It's okay," I murmured softly. "You know I'm not gonna hurt you…"

Moving with a slow impatience, I stood before him. His raspy breathing picked up, his unblinking eye never once focusing on me. With nowhere else to go, he had given up; which meant one thing: I won.

The moment I set a hand on his shoulder, his entire body flinched. I eased his jacket away from the puncture, cautious of any pressure I may put on the wound. Beneath he wore a simple, torn gray shirt smeared with dirt and blood, a mixture of his own and…well, I did not really want to think about that. Claws had torn his clothes; I was willing to bet, judging by the four meticulous tears in the fabric across the newest injury. I peeled the gashes apart, hearing him wheeze in brief disapproval, and viewed the hole in his mottled flesh.

Aside from the bullet lodged beneath his skin, the wound was not horrible. The Smoker had had worse, no doubt.

He suddenly dropped both hands to his sides. If he would stay like that, it might stop bleeding! As I examined closer, his chin bumped into my head, tongue grazing my arm again. I assumed he was trying to watch my actions. The spores fluttered around seemed to grow worse, too. Either that or I was simply noticing them a little more.

"That needs to come out," I said, not daring to turn my head. I was in no mood to shove my face into his. Instead, I took one of the torn cloths and laid it on the wound, drawing a startled grunt from him. "You're not gonna let me do that…" I stepped back, giving him a gentle half-smile. I was hoping some part of him recognized gestures like that. The cloth stuck for the time being, much to my relief. Until I could dig out the bullet, and find some tape, that was all I could do. "Are ya?"

I sighed, hesitantly distancing myself from him. Being so close made me almost want to inspect him a tad bit more. As I believe I have said, I am a fairly curious person. However, those spores were bugging the hell out of me. I flopped on the plywood floor, a good way away from the door. Occasionally, I would catch him tenderly poking at his shoulder, or attempting to look at the cloth stuck to his skin. I expected the infected to pull it off; or eat it.

After a few minutes, he lost interest, and shuffled over to me. At first, he stared me down, and I raised an eyebrow. Hairs on my arms stood on end; I don't know what bothered me more: the fact that I could read no emotion on his face, or that I could only on occasion. The Smoker cocked his head, and then slumped his back against the wall, right beside me, sliding down to the floor. He rested his knobby arms on his knees.

I froze. The way he was sitting there was just too…_human_ for my liking. It is hard to remember that I was sitting beside a _monster _when he did things like that!

As my initial shock slowly wore off, I realized _I _was sitting that exact same way. All he was doing was mimicking me. Ok, that is a little better.

I wrapped both arms around my legs, turning a curious eye to him. "You…God, I can't figure you out. You freak out and attack me, you follow me around, you _steal _my_ candy_…" I lay my chin against my elbow. "You saved my ass when we both know you shouldn't have. Seriously…what is goin' on with you?" The Smoker watched me with his head leaning back on the thin metal planks. I laughed humorlessly under my breath, shaking my head. As an after-thought, I whispered, "I don't even know what to call you…"

Was there a need to call him anything at all? Probably not. I wish I knew his name, even though I knew it meant nothing to him anymore….I eyed him. _Or, I _could _give him one…_

Stupid, cheesy aliases floated through my head; you know, the ones EVERYONE calls EVERYTHING because they think it's cute, or cool. 'Killer', 'Dog', 'Spike'. No, I thought he deserved something a little better than that. Besides, I was naming (or nicknaming) a zombie, not an animal.

…There's something _else _I never thought I'd say.

"How about…" I narrowed my eyes at him with a sidelong glance. He did not strike me as anything specific; like how some people _look _like an 'Emily' or 'David'. So, I needed to pull a name out of my ass, for lack of better ways to phrase it. Something short and sweet… "How about Mick?"

He choked a few times, catching his shaky breath. He did not care. I will admit, it made me feel better telling myself that he did, even if I did not believe it. Oh well, it was done. He turned to look at me straight on. I guess he knew when I was talking to him, even if he understood absolutely nothing that was coming out of my mouth. His whole body suddenly shook in a violent cough, and I frowned. "I'll take that as a yes?"

The Smoker—Mick took a deep, calming breath after his little fit. "You know…" As I spoke, he tilted his head, watching me intently. I was starting to wonder if he wanted me to just shut up. "I should have gone with those three earlier." Over his wheezes, I sighed, shaking my head. "This is all wrong…" I held my head in my hands. This whole situation—I should not even be alive, let alone sitting around talking to a Smoker. A Smoker that I had _named_, on top of that. "God, part of me hopes those guys don't make it to a safe house. Do you _know _how fucked up that is?

Watching him made me feel a little better. He was listening. Whether he understood hardly mattered. I laughed at myself. "Of course you don't…" Seeing other people should have given me strength. However, there was only one thing I could think about, and it shook up any little bit of vigor I might have had. "I had a family, ya know. I'll bet you did, too. What if they're out there somewhere? What if they're with people who are thinking the same things I am…"

I felt tears coming on. My mom, my brother and sister—where were they? I mean, we were not exactly equipped to handle a zombie apocalypse. Our only line of defense was the array of knives in the kitchen; a lot of good those would do if one of us were to be grabbed by a Smoker, or surrounded by a horde. What if they had turned, or had been—I shook my head. No. I was not going to think like that. And I sure as hell was not going to cry.

I shuffled to turn on my side, facing away from Mick. "I'm taking a nap," I informed him, fighting to still my cracking voice. "Wake me up in an hour, will ya?"

My eyes had not closed for two minutes when I suddenly heard rustling behind me. I waited for a harsh touch, or the prickle of those little spores. Instead, footsteps retreated to the opposite side. I held still, cracking one eye open out of sheer curiosity.

Mick leaned against the doorframe, peering out through the bars. Both hands hung loosely at his sides as he inspected the surrounding lot. I could hear approaching infected; a couple commons if I was not mistaken. Their mumbles and groans were easy to distinguish, especially compared to the howls of some of those Specials. He pressed his face against the metal for a better view, though even I could tell they were no threat. As long as I stayed quiet, and no one opened that door, I was safe. I assumed the other Infected would pay little mind to his noises.

He seemed to realize that, too. Mick relaxed against the wall again, eye watchful of everything going on outside.

The last thing I remember before dozing off was grinning to myself, realizing I was now considering myself safe in the presence of a Smoker.

_Good Lord, I am going absolutely insane…_


	8. Chapter 7

When I awoke next, the sun was just beginning to set behind the array of cars and buildings outside. A chill had already set in. I made a mental note to search for a blanket of some sort next time I went out. The parking lot around my haven was silent; no mumbles, no screams, not even footsteps on the pavement. That alone was inspiration enough for me to turn over and stretch my stiff muscles. No Infected was a wonderful thing to wake up to.

Mick, on the other hand, appeared much less at ease. He stood unmoving at the door, occasionally turning his bulbous head to check this way, or that. I wondered if he had left his post at all while I slept, although I was pretty sure I knew the answer.

Slowly, I straightened myself against the wall. "Hey, you." That was just enough to make me more interesting than whatever had his attention out there, if there was anything. A cough and quiet growl were his quick response. Mick hobbled across the flimsy floor to stand before me, and I dared to meet his glassy stare. Suddenly, it occurred to me: did the Infected play dominance games, like some animals do? If that _was _what he was doing with every stare he threw my way…well, I hoped I was winning.

"If you're guarding the door…" I laughed a little at the thought, making him shift uncomfortably. "I hope nothing saw you running away from me earlier. Doubt they'd find you very intimidating."

He then knelt to the ground in _the _most ungainly manner I had ever seen, landing with a loud _whump _on the plywood. And to think, I was originally worried his relentless hacking would draw attention to us. His grace might do the trick, too.

I wrapped my arms around my folded legs for warmth. While the temperature was not too bad yet, my entire body already shivered. "Aren't you cold?" No response (of course), not even his trademark head tilt. He simply watched me.

"Look at us…" I sighed, shaking my head slowly with a trace of a humorless smile. "How are we supposed to make—" I paused as Mick suddenly shifted, scooting a little closer, just within my reach.

Back in the day, when things made sense, I used to find comfort petting Jazz, my wonderful little Munchkin cat. I'd ramble on and on about whatever might have been bugging me, usually while she ignored me and slept in my lap, and somehow I figured things out. It's weird how that kind of silent companionship can be so…consoling.

…_Is that why I haven't kicked him out?_

I reached out slowly to Mick's bumpy face. He eyed me, still obviously unsure about me, though he did not pull away, even as I touched him. His skin—I still cannot honestly say I enjoy the feeling of it. It's still unnatural. However, I was not as weirded-out as I had been the first time. The same could be said for Mick, it seemed. Every time I curled my fingers on his check, his eye fluttered closed, as if he were dozing, only to shoot open again and stare at me. I slid my hand down to his neck, surprised as he actually tipped his head away to give me more room.

"See? I told you I'm not so bad." I couldn't resist a smile, laughing under my breath. "I'm starting to think I can say the about you."

Despite that, I had to be smart about this. Just because he hadn't attacked me did not mean he wouldn't. I had to keep telling myself that very thing, otherwise I might start trusting him. The oddly sweet way he kept leaning into my hand was making it very, very difficult not to…

I _should _kick him to the curb and move on, I knew. Safety should be one of my top priorities. That, and finding one of those camps all the wall-writings talk about. According to scribbles I read in the mall bathroom, there was one just a few miles outside of the city. I knew the area it was supposed to be in. My siblings and I used to fish in the nearby lake all the time.

Suddenly my hopes rose; maybe Mom and the kids headed out that way!

But…what if they didn't? My mind delved further into that terrifying thought, picturing the three of them trapped in a barricaded room, injured and scared, desperate for help that would not come. Or worse, what if they were all dea—

I shook the thought from my head. Mom was not the type to panic and do something stupid. She would find a way to keep Maria and Daniel safe, even if that meant simply boarding up the house. Still, I had to know for sure.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mick watching me, brow furrowed curiously. I smiled sadly. "You know…" I said quietly. "My brother always used to tell me that…when bad things happen, you shouldn't be too picky about your friends. Of course, he just started hanging out with this really weird kid when he said that." I dropped my hand back into my lap, drawing a disappointed wheeze from Mick. "But…anyone who is willing to stick with you till the end is worth keeping around, no matter who they might be."

I highly, _highly _doubt this is what Danny had in mind when we had that conversation. That did not make it any less true. Slowly, I climbed to my feet, brushing debris and dust off the back of my jeans. "I need your help," I murmured, just barely above a whisper. Biting my lip, I shoved my hands in my pockets. "I need to know where my family is, and…there's a chance they might be trapped in the house still."

Mick stood awkwardly, choking on who knows what—spores, or maybe just air. His constant noise might have annoyed most people out there. Hell, at first it annoyed _me_. Now it was, dare I say, endearing, kind of like those snoring bulldogs. I shrugged, a little sheepishly. "I'm afraid to go by myself." Saying it out loud made me feel so…so…

_Weak._

The Infected stared at me, lowering his head a bit. Was that some sort of gesture? Or was it just one of those little things he did, kind of like the coughs? I had no clue. Two days did not make me an expert on reading him. Whatever his reason, it did not seem like a threatening behavior. Cautiously, with my eye on him, I did the same.

Mick fiddled with the hem of his shirt, making a low noise that resembled a laugh _far _too closely for my liking. He threw his head a little, quieting to a croaky gasp, before doing it once more. _All that for me simply bowing my head?_ As he finished…whatever the hell he was doing, he looked at me almost expectantly, panting loud enough that I was sure anything mulling about outside would be able to hear him.

At the time, I was convinced I was slowly figuring out a way to communicate effectively with him. I wanted him to quiet down again, so I had another idea. Keeping an eye on him, I hunched my back, like some of the Commons do, and gave him my best zombie growl.

His eye went wide, and he stepped back, cocking his head at me in comical confusion. I thought I sounded pretty good! Now I'm willing to bet that, to him, I sounded like a very, "special" infected. Mick made that strange heaving laugh again, gasping as if he had run a marathon. This time, I tried to mimic him, breathing heavily with exaggerated wheezes. Doing so only made me cough for real.

Suddenly his gritty yell echoed off the trailer walls. He bounced back and forth from one foot to the other, hands clenching into loose fists. I took that as my cue to stop.

"Shhhh!" I waved both hands at him in an effort to shut him up. "I get it! I'm done."

Ok, mental note: Don't do that. Ever.

I needed to get my mind back on track. Stop pissing Mick off, and think about what's important.

Glancing briefly out the bars, I noticed how dark it was. I wanted nothing more than to leave that trailer, even through the cover of night. The sooner I began my search, the better, right? The thought of my baby sister out there among this mess—really, what more motivation did a person need? I'm eighteen, and I'm a wreck; I can't even imagine how well her 6-year-old brain is processing everything. And Mom—I remember one day she and I sat around joking about zombies. The shambling, undead kind. Not these monsters. Danny had been in on it, too. He thought it would be cool, the zombie apocalypse I mean. For his sake, I'm hoping he's changed his mind about that.

Mick suddenly inhaled sharply, drawing me away from my worries. He made a few odd growls, gracelessly sitting on the floor again. I wondered if he was finally growing tired. Since he had been following me, I had not seen him sleep once. He then tilted his head up to me, gushing at me almost frantically.

"If you're trying to tell me something, you have to be clearer than that." Slowly, I meandered over to lean on the wall. Mick huffed at me, choking on air for his effort.

Outside, activity had picked up. An unfortunately familiar screeched echoed off in the distance, over the mumbles of a few Commons that had trickled into the parking lot. I knew that scream—jumper…leaper…

"Hunter," I whispered to myself, feeling oddly proud to have remembered that. Mick heard it out there, too. Not a moment after the word left my mouth, he answered with a scratchy call of his own. I flailed at the Smoker, startling him enough to stop another cry mid-way.

"Stop that," I scolded unnecessarily. He blinked. "I don't want your friends hanging around here, too."

Okay, so…From the sounds of it, the Infected moved around a lot at night. Mick didn't seem to antsy, though. Maybe only certain ones? Either way, there was a Hunter out there somewhere. I dealt with one already. I _really _don't want to deal with another in the dark.

Remember that neighbor I mentioned previously? The one with the swimming pool? Yeah. I went over to find out what was going on (namely why no one in the neighborhood was anywhere to be found). He came sailing off the garage roof and landed on top of me. Thankfully he only managed one swipe across my forearm before someone—another neighbor, knocked him off with a shovel. I don't remember how they killed him; all I know is that when someone dragged me to my feet, he was dead, laying in a puddle of his own blood. What really stands out to me, though, is not so much the attack; rather, it was the Infected's eyeless stare, and that wicked shriek.

So, Hunters? No, thanks. Oddly enough, I'd rather bump into a Tank. At least I would be able to out-run it…for a little while.

"All right," I said. "In the morning, we'll leave. My house first, then we'll look for…the…"

The camp? How exactly could I waltz up there with an Infected on my heels? The guards would shoot him on sight. Either that, or they'd try capturing him for tests and whatnot. How was that fair to Mick? I saw how nervous he was around me, and I meant him no harm at all. I couldn't imagine how he would be around people yanking him around, poking and prodding him…Infected or not, he did not deserve that.

I shook my head slowly. "Forget that." First things first. We had to get to my house. "I'll just figure it out as we go, I guess."

Mick took a rare, smooth breath. He shifted a bit, and then proceeded to scoot across the floor to sit at my feet, also leaning on the wall as he relaxed. Before I could stop myself, I reached down and ran my fingers through his hair. The softness of it still baffles me; it made absolutely _zero _sense!

The realization that I was petting a zombie again suddenly struck me, so I jerked my hand away. He grunted in disapproval. I guess he was slowly becoming accustomed to being touched again, thought I can't tell if he truly enjoys it. At least now he doesn't run away.

A few quiet moments passed between us, the only noise being his crackling breaths or a moan from across the lot. Not even crickets dared to chirp anymore. I think that was part of what made me so uncomfortable, the lack of familiarity. Crickets always sing at night.

_Nice young men also don't try to tear you apart. You don't worry about your neighbors attempting to eat you in the night. You don't have to run around prepared to bash in someone's head. _Nothing, and I do mean _nothing _was familiar anymore.

A sharp tug to my jeans startled me. When I looked down, one glassy eye met mine. Mick gushed a few more odd sounds, tugging downwards once again. Gentler. And then he dropped his hand back to the ground, just observing me curiously. I decided to humor him. Sliding down, I took up a seat beside him and proceeded to stare uncomfortably at the opposite wall. His gaze never left me, though. I felt goosebumps prick all over my skin.

"R-right then," I muttered. His staring was creeping me out! But what could I do? Yell at him? "When the sun comes up, we'll head towards the river. My house is just over the Main Street bridge."

Mick growled, like he knew what I had just explained. I knew he didn't. Oh well, the feedback was nice. I dropped my head back against the wall, closing my eyes. "Rest now, Mick. I have a bad feeling tomorrow's going to be a _really _long day."


	9. Chapter 8 Teaser

Hi guys! Sorry it's been so long since I've updated ;_; Got a little busy around my house lol. Anywho, here's a little snippet from the chapter I'm working on. I planned on having it done COMPLETELY by the end of the month, but...well, again, things came up. So, hopefully you all enjoy this! Thanks so much for all your reviews, as well! I get all giddy reading them :D

I'll post the entire chapter soon; promise! :)

* * *

><p>Since everything first began, I learned a few things. First off, zombies are real. They may not be the undead of the horror movies, but they're real. Some of them mutated into frightening, dangerous beasts, while others looked like normal, psychotic people who had clawed at their faces, arms, and other appendages. The only place that could be called 'safe' was in any building with a red, steel door. People-normal people were still around, fending for themselves the same way I was trying to. Most importantly, I found out there was a camp somewhere outside of town. Equally important was the fact that the Common infected did not seem to appreciate the sweltering heat. Many of them sat motionless in the shade, uncaring of anything else around them. There were a few stragglers stumbling around in the sun. That was just it-there were only a few, not an entire damn horde.<p>

I also discovered there was a Hunter lurking somewhere in the area. Compared to before, my pathway would be fairly clear. Of course there would be a Special. Well, besides Mick, that is.

Still, I had a mission. I would worry about the Hunter if the time came to do so. What I would do-Ha, hell if I knew. Maybe my bat would work well enough.

In the heat of that next morning, I hit the streets, my favorite Smoker tailing close behind me. Aside from the bat, I had only decided to carry two water bottles-one for each of us-to keep our load light. Both were stuffed into Mick's jacket pockets. For a while he had been fascinated with them, squeezing them until they made that distinct crinkling sound, only to look back at me in utter confusion. His amusement with them died away once we started moving.

We had made our way out of the parking lot and onto the main highway. About a mile or so North was the exit that directly passed my street. I always hated that; it was so busy and noisy at night. Now it was a godsend. All we had to do was avoid the zombies along the way.

Terrific.

As expected of a major road, all six lanes were littered with cars, only small gaps in between clusters of them. It used to be the main route into, and out of town. Now I started to wonder what people had done once they realized the events going on around them were real. Had they run? Did they simply sit in their cars and hope nothing broke the glass? All the rows of abandoned vehicles seemed to point towards the former. Unfortunate for those people, lucky for me.

I once again used abandoned cars to sneak past a duo of staggering infected; one was clawing desperately at his clothes. Well, maybe that wasn't so unusual. There had been a few days, when things were normal, that non-infected seemed to have the urge to do just such a thing. I glanced behind me, suddenly realizing I was no longer being followed. Instead of his usual hovering, Mick simply meandered around the Commons and various cars. A couple infected growled and moaned; Mick responded accordingly-hurrying his steps to keep up with me on the other side of my cover. A distraction? No, no way was he that smart. Not anymore.

I ran around to the front of a van, ready to book it to the next car barely twenty feet ahead of me. My feet were suddenly not under me, and I sprawled on the scorching blacktop, the bat rolling out of my grip. A surprised, furious snarl sounded above me. I turned my head just enough to see a woman clambering to her bare, bloody feet. Faintly I could make out the word 'Zeppelin' on her torn shirt (That still weirded me out, seeing things like that). Her matted black hair stuck to a gaping wound surrounding her remaining eye, which was glaring straight down at me.

My only hope would be to get her on the ground before she could get her hands on me. I rolled over and kicked desperately at her legs. My attempts, however, only served to irritate her further, perhaps more so than my tripping over her. She screamed and grabbed at my arms, her teeth gnashing together as she snapped at my flesh. Her target seemed to be my face; I managed to brace a hand under her jaw, holding her at bay by her throat. It wouldn't last. My arm was already shaking from the effort.

Blood splattered my face. Thankfully I shut my mouth in time-who knows what could have happened if I hadn't. The woman went limp, her mouth hanging slack. No more rage. Why, I didn't care. I shoved her body away, pulling myself back up to stand. Mick cocked his head at me, and I suddenly noticed his blood-soaked hand. A glance at my attacker revealed a missing chunk of the back of her neck. Along with the distorted bones of her spine sticking up through the skin.

I willed away the sudden bout of nausea. I had seen corpses. I had seen pieces of corpses. And that was just from an anatomy class. Now there were bodies laying all over the place. I could handle this. Calm down, and focus. Forcing my eyes away from the scene, I leaned down to pick up my bat. "Thanks..." I whispered.

Three more Common had noticed us. Perhaps the woman's shriek had drawn them. One ran at me, arms wide for an attack, only to be wrapped in that leathery whip of a tongue. Mick dragged him back, away from me thankfully. The other two came in unison, a man and a woman who could have not been much older than me before the Infection. I ducked under her swipe, narrowly missing a hit from her companion as well. Mick's hollow scream echoed around us, followed by the shattering crack of a breaking rib cage. The Smoker tossed the dead man aside like he was nothing more than a fly. That, I never thought I would grow used to.

The woman came at me again. I threw myself out of her way, stumbling as I felt her nails tearing across my arm. Mick already had the other wrapped up; it must have been easy. None of them had paid him any mind. Their hungry eyes were on me.

Again I was dodging claws. She would not stop, I knew, not until she was...Right. I knew what I had to do.

I barely had a moment to prepare myself. As she neared again, I set my feet, squeezing my eyes shut tightly, and swung the bat with all the strength I could manage. It met flesh with a sickening, meaty thud. The zombie staggered, but did not fall. God, I had hoped that, if it ever came down to this, I could do it on the first blow. Kind of like when we would put animals down on the farm-pray for it to be over the first time so they did not suffer any more. I opened my eyes in time to see her trying for me again.

Aim for the head. Aim for the head. The moment she was in range, I swung once more, wood meeting the center of her nose. Her body hit the pavement in a heap. But, just to make sure, I brought my weapon down on her again.

When I was sure she was not getting up again, all I could do was stare at the corpse. I killed her. I. Killed. Zombie or not, she was dead because of me, her face smashed in and neck twisted awkwardly where she had fallen; I don't know how I should have felt. My hands were shaking so badly I thought I would drop my bloody weapon. The sickening crack of her skull still rang in my ears...or maybe that was Mick finishing off the last of the trio. I was too distracted to decide which.

A sticky hand wrapped around my arm and pulled. I didn't even need to look up to know what-who it belonged to. Right, I couldn't gawk at the body anymore. We needed to get out of the area before more came along; I could continue feeling guilty when we were safely locked in my house.


End file.
